The Spirit of the Eagle
by thatbrooklyn
Summary: Story has been edited. New York is about to receive a new kind of resident. Mush knows something. Spot suspects something. Texas meets post strike New York.
1. Prologue

**Well, recently I have gone back and edited much of this story, simply because I felt as though parts of it were badly written. Hope you enjoy the new and improved, even if it is only form chapter eight onward. **

Prologue

The evening air ripped clean through me as I got off the boat in Manhattan. It had been a long journey. Damp passengers groped with cold hands for their baggage. Most of these had come from upstate New York. Not me. I grabbed my old, small carpet bag, which held my few belongings; a hair brush, a bar of soap, nightshirt, one pair of stockings, my hat, and my boots.

I gave the small boy at the baggage claim a smile as he offered to carry my bag. "I think I can manage," I said wryly. His face fell. As I looked at the little urchin, I realized he couldn't be more than 7 or 8 years old. He had been wandering around the docks for a while, and I'd seen him carry several of the wealthy ladies bags ashore. It then dawned on me.

"Okay, partner," I drawled, "If you'll be real careful I'll let ya carry my bag."

His eyes lit up and he tipped his newsboy hat at me with a grin. "Yes, ma'am!"

I hurried to keep up with him as we walked off the docks toward the street. He carried my little bag to the place where most of the passengers were either being picked up by friends or relatives here at the street corner. "Here, pal." I dug in my leather coat pocket and pulled out two dimes. "Thanks for your trouble." His face broke into the most adorable smile I'd ever seen, front teeth missing and all.

"Thanks, lady," he said shyly.

I bent down to smooth the wrinkles out of my buckskin breeches, aware of how odd they must look in a place like this.

"What's your name, partner?" I looked back at the scruffy young-un who was fingering the money with a dreamy look in his eyes. It was almost comical.

"Chance. My name is Chance."


	2. Just a Small Incident

I watched Chance skip down the street and hop onto a trolley car headed south. I shook my head, wondering what such a little guy was doing on the street. I picked up my bag and started walking.

Not exactly sure where I was headed, I kept ending up in dead-end alleys. After about the fourth time doing this, I stopped and looked around for someone to ask for directions.

Seeing a young man pushing a wheelbarrow full of wet newspapers, I decided to ask him.

"Excuse me," I said, "Where can I find a place to stay?"

The man stopped and looked me up and down. I felt a bit strange about him and wondered if maybe it wasn't such a good idea to ask a strange man for _anything_ in this city. The man swept of his black derby hat in mock debonair and a smirk twitched his black moustache.

"I believe, _miss,_ you might find lodging two blocks down, and on the right. Big red sign. You can't miss it."

I nodded curtly and started walking swiftly in the direction indicated. I noted, with relief that he wasn't following me.

Hurrying past some vendors and fruit stands, I craned my neck to see if there was some sort of boarding house up ahead. I finally made it past the crowd of people who were either selling or buying their goods, coughing at the dust so many feet had kicked up.

Looking up, I saw the red sign the man back in the alley had mentioned. I felt a flush creep up my neck as I realized what this place was. _Fool,_ I thought bitterly, _gullible. Just like back home. _This particular "boarding" house was not for any woman withthe least bit of self respect.

I stood there awkwardly for a moment, unsure now of where to go. _Well, _I thought, _if there had been a boarding house, I probably don't have enough money to pay anyhow._

A commotion coming down the street behind me startled me out of my troubles. A big red fire wagon, being pulled by six horses, was barreling down the street straight at me! I was smack in the middle of the street and as I picked up my bag and began to run, my left foot caught in something I couldn't see and I tripped. The driver yelled at me to move, and I swore under my breath. Couldn't he see I was _trying _to move?

I scrambled to get up, but as I did, I saw I would never get out of the way in time. With the wagon and horses coming at me with lightning speed.

I all of a sudden felt something big hit me and I was knocked clean over. The wagon rumbled by barely six inches from my feet.

The wind was knocked right out of me and I lay there for a minute, trying desperately to get some oxygen into my lungs. I finally was able to take a very small breath, so I opened my eyes and looked around to try to find out what, or who, had pushed me out of the way.

"You okay?"

I turned around quickly, and looked into two of the most beautiful brown eyes I had ever seen. My breathe, which there was precious little of already, caught in my throat.

"You alright, ma'am?"

I suddenly realized that a small crowd of people surrounded me. It also dawned of me, as I struggled to sit up, what a precarious situation that i had been in! I was sprawled out on top of that man (or boy, whatever he was) with my feet up above my head, and his arm around my middle.

"I'm fine. Yes I'm okay," I muttered as I pulled myself together. I was thankful that I had been wearing breeches and not a skirt.

Most of the people nodded and dispersed as I got up. I turned back to my rescuer, who, I was figuring, must have jumped out in front of that wagon to pull me out of the way!

Embarrassed, I tried to use the emotionless mask that my people were so famous for to hide my uneasiness.

"Well, thank ya, mister, for your help," I said, dusting myself off.

The young man, who looked maybe a year or so older than me, smiled curiously at my accent, which was quite distinct. His skin was a light brown color, and his muscles showed through his white, button-up shirt plainly. He had boyish grin that seemed contagious, because although I tried not to, I found myself smiling at him.

"Sure thing, ma'am," he said, "my pleasure. You ain't from around here, are ya?"

I shook my head. "Nope. I just arrived in New York this afternoon. I'm from down west, in Texas."

"Texas? Wow. That's quite a way. Here, let me help you with your bag."

He began to pick up my bag along with it's scattered contents, and then handed them back to me.

He then walked with me over in front of a large building he called the 'Lodging House', and he told me his name was Michael.

"My friends call me Mush, though. You can call me Mush."

"I'm Marty."

He grinned and pushed his cap up out of his eyes.

"Well, Marty, it's been fun, but I'm gonna havta take off. I'm workin' over in the factory close to the bay. In the afternoon, anyway. In the mornin' I sells papers. If ya ever needs anythin', you can come here to the Lodging House an' ask for Mush."

I grinned and nodded. "Thanks again…Mush." Waving at him briefly, I turned and walked on my own again.

"Lower East Side Fire Station," I read aloud, looking at the big brick entrance. "Stable hand wanted. Hmm."

_Well,_ I thought grimly, _they may not hire a girl, but horses are something I am NOT a stranger to. I can at least try._

I walked in the building and saw a small old man sitting at an old desk. He glanced up as I walked in, eyeing my clothes suspiciously. Ignoring it, I strode up to him and said,

"I saw your sign looking for help in the stable. Is that position still open?"

The old man wrinkled his nose at me and snarled,

"Well, what are you supposed to be? Some wannabe cowboy? I'm not interested in wasting my time on young pranksters! Especially female pranksters! Now you get out of here!"

I drew myself up to my full height and looked him straight in the eye.

"Look, mister. I am NOT a prankster. I am from a ranch in north Texas and I know horses. I have trained many young horses and cured their fear of people. I can earn their trust and teach them to work with people and not against them. I am half Apache Indian and half Texas immigrant. I am no stranger to hard work. And if you really don't want to hire a girl…" I pulled my dark brown hair under my worn leather cowboy hat, " I can be a boy, too."

The man at the counter glared at me for a minute. Then his mouth twitched and I knew I had him. He then shook his head slightly and chuckled.

"Well, then." He rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "Tell ya what. If you can convince Mr. Macough that you are a boy, we'll give you a try." He leaned forward. "Mr. Macough is the big boss around here. A real hard case." He leaned back and started fingering through some papers. "Come back tomorrow morning at seven. I'll tell him I've found me a stable boy. But mind," he said, looking me up and down, "If he don't buy it, I don't know a thing."

I grinned a big Texas grin at him.

"Yessir!"


	3. And We Meet Again

_**Thatbrooklyn: K, I completely forgot the little disclaimer doohickey thingamabob. So here we go. I don't own Newsies or any of Disney's characters. Tragically. Everything else in this story is mine. So please don't sue and we will get along splendidly.**_

I got the job. This morning I'd spent a little time getting ready. Since I had already been wearing boys clothes in the first place, all that I'd had to do to prepare was chop off my long, wavy hair.

As I had looked at my reflection in a shop window before coming here, I realized with a grin that I looked just like one of the ranch hands from back home. My hair was shaggy and uncombed, and I could easily pass for a young, oddly dressed boy who needed a haircut.

The big boss had been sceptical at first, because of my small size, but an agreement had been reached that he would give me a try for one week. If I could keep up with the work, the job was mine. He had no suspicions whatsoever that I might not be a boy. I was given a change of clothes for work, which I changed into right away. At least I wouldn't stick out so much now.

My starting salary would be a dollar and a quarter per day. After the first week. Every day I was to clean the stalls, feed and haul water to the twelve horses that the station owned, and keep the harnesses and other leathers and equipment in good shape. In case of a fire call, I was also expected to help hitch the horses to the wagons.

Sweat began to break out on my forehead as I worked, but I didn't mind. The physical labor gave my mind a chance to wander.

I thought briefly of the fellow who had saved me yesterday. I grinned. Mush? What kind of name was that? Well, I suppose I'd heard worse. I wondered if I'd run into him again. He seemed like quite a fellow. Well, the fire station was only a block or so away from his 'Lodging House', so maybe we'd run into each other again.

By the time I finished mucking out the last of the twelve stalls, it was long past noon, probably around 3:30, and I was starving. I had exactly fifteen cents to my name right now, but I hadn't eaten since early yesterday morning. I decided to use what I had to buy some lunch. I washed my hands as best I could at the pump sitting by the door, then hurried outside.

* * *

A few minutes later I was meandering down the street again, happily munching my hot bread. As I reached the crosswalk, a small voice trilled out,

"Mayer bitten by savage dog! Extra! Extra!"

A small boy, with blonde curls protruding from under his newsboy cap, stood there hawking the afternoon paper. A young couple dressed in fancy clothes stopped to buy from him. The little fellow turned slightly, and I realized it was Chance, the little stray who had carried my bag up from the boat. I smiled as I watched him. He had a very noticeable lisp, which made him all the cuter as he hollered out big words for the headlines.

I wondered how long Chance had had to look out for himself, and if he had a place to stay. It looked like he had sold all but one or two of his papers, and I wished I had a penny left to help him out. After a few moments, though, Chance had sold his last paper and started walking my way, counting his money.

As he passed me, I almost waved at him, but then remembered that I was supposed to be a boy, and he probably wouldn't remember me anyway._ You gotta quit forgetting that_, I chided myself, watching him slip around the corner.

_Well, I'd better get back to work. _

* * *

Gripping his coins tightly, the little boy ran as fast as he could down the alley, trying to lose the bigger boys who were chasing him. He glaced over his shoulder, trying to see how close they were. As he did, a fist smashed into his face, the impact slamming him into the wall. A moment later he opened his eyes, and realized that they were searching his clothing for his money. He barely moved his left hand to his face, as if to check for blood, but opened his mouth slightly and slipped the bigger coins inside.

"Found it!" the bigger one growled, prying his other hand open. "Fifty-three cents today. You're gettin' better, kid." With a laugh the two bullies dragged him to his feet. He braced himself bravely for the beating he knew was coming.

"Now, what do y'all think you're doin'?"

Chance tried to brush the blood out of his eyes to see who was talking.

"We found us a street rat an' we havin' some fun," came the reply, in a dangerous tone. "so I suggest you get lost."

The new boy on the scene was not very big, maybe 5'7, but he stood his ground.

"Well, ya know, this don't look like much of a fair fight to me. Now if you fellers'll just move along, I might _not_ call my stable boys across the street to finish you off." The words were spoken slowly and deliberately, and with a deadly calm.

The two ruffians appeared to size him up for a moment before dropping Chance to the ground.

"What if we don't think you have any buddies across the street?"

The boy licked his lips. "I reckon that's up to you." He then brought his fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle, which echoed and bounced off the walls in the small alley.

"Hey! What's goin' on here?" Two new voices shouted into the darkness.

The two boys who had been chasing Chance turned and fled.

Chance saw his rescuers' shoulders sag in relief. He got up and walked shakily over.

* * *

I stood there in a daze for a moment, shaking my head slightly. _It's an aweful good thing I learned the value of bluffing when I was young._ I felt a small hand tug at my shirttail.

"Gosh, I'm sure glad you came along," a small voice beside me quavered. I looked down and saw Chance's bruised face looking up at me, his lips curled up into a tiny grin.

"Chance! Chance! Ya okay, pal?"

Turning to see who was coming, I saw a short, black-haired boy with a cigar in his teeth jogging toward us. Right at his heels was a rather familiar looking figure, with curly brown hair, and suspenders hanging at his sides.

"Y-yeah, I'm okay, Race." Chance turned and fell into the shorter boy's arms.

I took off my hat and ran my fingers through my hair. "Well, you fellers sure couldn'ta picked better timing. I was just about to think that bluff wouldn't work."

"We heard a whistle, a real loud one. Mush here took a peek in the alley and saw Chance here in a fix." The short Italian ruffled the little boy's hair, then turned to me. "What's ya name, kid?" he asked, in a friendly tone.

I glanced at Mush, who was looking at me a bit strangely. Deciding to keep up the male facade, I stuck my hand out to both of them, trying to deepen my voice a little.

"Marty. Marty Branson."

"Race Higgins." The boy spit in his hand and shook. Inwardly disgusted, I turned to Mush, willing him with my eyes not to blow my cover.

He looked me over for a moment, then looked down at Chance.

He stuck out a big hand toward me with a twinkle in his eye. "My friends call me Mush."


	4. So this is NY

**Don't own Newsies...do own this story. haha!**

I sat on the steps of the 'Lodging House' with the three boys.

"Ah, ain't nothin' much," Racetrack muttered, examining Chance's face. "We'll ask Kloppman for some ice or a piece of meat to put on that eye, and that cut on your chin'll heal up in no time."

Mush said angrily, "I've about had it up to here with those stinkin' kids from that high-falutin, hoity-toity rich kid school. Lazy bums, won' lift a finger to work, but they'll steal money from the kid an' beat him up for good measure!" He shook his head, "Don'cha worry, Chancey. I'll get that money back for ya."

Chance pulled away from Race, who was wiping the dirt and bits of blood off his face with his hankerchief. "But I fooled 'em this time, Mush! I..." He suddenly looked a little pale. "Oops..."

"What's the matter," I asked, confused. Chance stuck his finger in his mouth and pulled out three coins from under his tongue.

"I was hidin' the bigger money ones in my mouth, and, um...I think I swallowed one," he lisped. He slipped the other three coins back into his pocket.

Race's face twitched, and he suddenly let out a big guffaw. Mush tried to glare at him, seeing Chance's mortified expression, but had to turn away to keep his grin from showing.

"Don't worry, pal. I'll tell ya how ta get it back..."

"Whoa, whoa, Mush, save it for later," Race quipped, "much later."

The four of us stood up, chuckling, and I started to leave.

"Wait! Uh, Marty," Mush coughed, "A bunch of the fellows is meetin' outside Irving Hall day after tomorrow. The gal that owns the joint is a friend of ours, so we can get in for nothin'. "

"Yeah! Medda's the best," Race added, "an' since ya helped our boy Chance out, I'm sure the guys would like ta meet ya." He lowered his voice, elbowing me and smirking. "Should be pretty good, I know a few ladies who _just might_ drop in."

I cleared my throat, and attempted to keep from bursting into laughter. "Well, I might drop in for a while. I'm workin' at the fire station, so I'll have to make sure I'm done with that."

Race clapped me on the back, and I turned to Chance. "You take care, partner, you hear?"

He grinned up at me and said shyly, "Thanks...Marty."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

I burst into the stable, trying to catch my breath. Looking around anxiously to see if anyone was here, I finally relaxed a bit, deciding that I hadn't been missed. _You have to quit taking stupid chances, _I said to myself._ One day your luck will run out, and you NEED this job. _I peeked into each of the horses stalls, and found them all munching their hay placidly. I began to work on the leather harnasses, rubbing and conditioning them until they were clean. As I worked, my mind wandered.

FLASHBACK

_"I will not have a half breed in my school, Mr. Branson, even if it does belong to you!" The teacher's red, fat face contorted in anger as he snarled at the tall man before him._

_"Don't you talk like that in front of her! She's just as smart as any of the other kids! Why, she can ride better, shoot straighter, and run faster than any young-un you got in here!"_

_"I could care less! All the reservation muck can claim as much. But I'd sooner let a dog in my classroom! Just remember this, Branson! That thing there may be half white," he said, pointing to the trembling child clinging to her fathers leggings, "but her mother raised her ALL INDIAN! SO GET OUT"_

_o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o_

"Hey, boy! How on earth did you finish all them harnesses so soon?"

I jumped out of my daze, and saw Mr. Graff stooping to pick up the nearest assortment of buckles and leather. He examined them and turned to me. he looked around and lowered his voice. "You sure surprised me, girl. I figured you'd be so worn out you'd quit the first day." He shook his head. "If you can keep it up, that's one thing. You'd better watch it if not. Macough is a tough man. Has to be, in this city."

With that he turned an walked away, leaving me alone.

I stood up and began hanging everything on the walls, arranging them neatly. I wondered how long I could keep my secret. Remembering how Mush had looked at me questioningly in the alley, I knew he was wondering why I didn't want my identity revealed. He had gone along with it for now, but how long until he tired of the facade? I wondered if I could afford to risk having those boys as friends. They seemed nice enough, but who could you trust in a place like this? _Ha! Who can you trust anywhere?_ the voice in my head chided.

I finished cleaning up and then went out front to sit on the front steps. It was nearing dusk, and people were just leaving their jobs and starting home. I studied the different types of people I saw. There were a good many wealthy looking men in fancy shirttails who drove by in fancy carriages or buggys, some with ladies by their side. I noticed the absolute distain that this class seemed to have for the ragged children who wandered about.

I watched as young black boy, who had been playing stickball with some younger boys in the square, stopped playing as a rich-looking woman walked prettily by. Picking something off the ground, the boy ran after the lady, calling after her. The woman glanced at the boy, wrinkled her nose, and walked faster. He called again, and held up a tiny purse that the lady must have dropped. The woman, slowed for a brief moment, seeing the purse. Then with a scowl stuck her nose in the air and flounced away, leaving her bag behind.

Seeing the boy's hurt expression, my heart went out to him as I saw him shake his head sadly, pocketing the purse. "Boots! C'mon back! Your up!" The other boys called to him, and he went back to playing. It made me angry to see that kind of behavior the woman showed. This was the North! I knew that the lady had most likely refused to acknowledge the youngster partly because he was, well, riffraff, but I was certain that the fact that he was Negro had been the reason for her rudeness. "It just isn't fair," I thought bitterly. "Land of the free, is it? Psh! Land of the damn whites, that's what it is!" I felt as violated by the scene as if it had happened to me. I turned and went back to the station, crawled up into the loft where my belongings were, and tried to sleep, fighting the torrent of memories that plagued my troubled mind.

**A/N**

**Just want to thank** Meadowlark, Matches O'Reilly, and Facetiouslymischievious **for your reviews. Y'all are awesome!**

**I know this chapter was a little weird, and we didn't see as much of our newsies. But be of good cheer! Much more to come! You will see someone familiar in the next chap...But ONLY IF YOU REVIEW!! lol**

**Constructive criticism welcome. **


	5. Chapter 5

"Damn it! What the hell do ya think your doin' boy?"

I looked up from filing one of the wagon horses' feet. Mr. Macough's burly form stood over me, his eyes narrow and suspicious. I stood, rubbing the small of my back, trying to soothe the aches. Motioning to the horse's hooves, I said,

"His feet was chipped, sir. He was startin' to limp, and since you might be a'needin' him anytime, I just figured on fixin him up real quick."

Macough looked a little surprised. Inspecting the feet of the big bay, he finally turned and grunted.

"Well…most boys don't know shit about that. But…" He waved his hand at me, telling me that I had his permission to continue.

After he had gone, I quickly finished with the bay and lead him out back to brush him. The back of the firehouse broke out into a narrow alleyway, where just to the left there was a water pump. The afternoon sun had soon made the flies unbearable.

Working here in New York hadn't been anything I couldn't handle so far. I felt myself break into a lopsided grin as I thought about all the times in the last couple of weeks that I'd just wanted _to level_ someone. Like the other stable boys when they began to pick on me…or ol' Macough himself when he got to twisting my ear for not completing a job to his satisfaction.

I took the rubber curry comb and began working the dirt out of the horses' hair. I had always tried to made sure that I had done each job to the best of my ability, so no one would have a reason to complain. But someone always seemed to find a little thing that they didn't like and get blue in the face.

At first I had thought it was because my complexion was dark, but now I was starting to think differently. I noticed that Macough treated all his men in such a way, from his firemen to his stable boys. And the lower you were on the totem pole…

"Everyone needs a scapegoat…" I muttered as I finished. I glanced at the sun, wondering what time it was. Probably around five thirty.

After shutting the horse in his stall, I turned and exited the building, going out the back way. Although my muscles ached from working in the stable, I needed to get out. I felt so cramped after being in the stuffy stable all day.

I stretched my arms as I walked, loosening up tight muscles. Suddenly, on an impulse, I started jogging down the street toward the square. Dodging the few people who were there this late in the afternoon, I loosened the buttons of my collar, enjoying the feeling that washed over me as I ran. _Freedom._

My feet pounded the cobblestones faster. I leapt over a boy who was playing marbles in the street, whooping as I went. A few shop owners who stood nearby stopped and stared, but it didn't matter. It had been so long. _Your people…they could run…you can run…_

After about my forth lap around the huge square, a finally stopped, at last feeling exhilarated and somewhat at peace. I was still breathing hard when I heard a voice behind me.

"Ain't nevah seen nobody do that before."

I turned, and there was Mush and two other boys I hadn't seen before. I smiled at them.

"Howdy, fellas. How ya doin'?" It had been a while since I had seen Mush. I walked over to where they stood, leaning against the statue of Horace Greely.

"Heya, Marty," Mush said, slapping my back in a friendly manner. "So this is Jack and Spot, some good friends of mine." He indicated first the tall, hazel-eyed boy with a red bandana around his neck. The smaller boy, who was maybe an inch or so taller than me, wore red suspenders and had the most intense blue-gray eyes I had ever seen.

I nodded to both of them and shook their hands. _Spitshake. Yuck._

"Pleasure ta meet ya. Say, how come you was running? Didn't see nobody chasin' ya." The boy called Jack looked at me quizzically, a friendly grin adorning his handsome face.

"Well," I said, slightly embarrassed, "I suppose I just needed ta get out. I been inside all day, workin' at the stable. Needed to work out some steam, ya know?"

He nodded. I turned to Mush.

"Y'all done workin for today?"

"Yep. These fellas is done sellin papes, an' they let out early at the factory today. We was just thinkin' we'd head over toward Brooklyn. A couple of the boys have set up a fight between 'em, so we's gonna go watch. Care to join us?" Mush's invitation was friendly, but I knew by his expression that he didn't expect me to go with them.

"Well, I…sure." Spontaneously, I decided I wanted to go. I noticed Spot watching me out of the corner of my eye. Something in his stare made me uncomfortable, but I shook it off.

"All right!" Mush grinned enthusiastically. "Me an' Jack will just run get a few of the other boys, and we'll go. Be right back!" Jack and Mush turned and walked toward the lodging house.

I turned and smiled cautiously at this blue eyed, tough looking guy. He looked at me strangely, then said,

"So…Marty, is it? Mush says you's from Texas."

I nodded. "Yup. Cowboy state. Lots of ranches and a few farms."

"You ever see a gunfight?" He cocked an eyebrow.

I cleared my throat.

"Well, no. But I seen my share of regular fights. Fistfights, wrestling. Been in my share, too."

"Really."

He appeared to size me up for a moment, his eyes unreadable. I felt slightly annoyed at his short, cocky way of conversing with me, as if he was interrogating me and anything I said can and would be used against me.

Abruptly he turned his back to me and lit up a cigar. He took a long draw and blew it out his nose. Looking at me square in the eye he said,

"Well, I guess we'll see."


	6. Chapter 6

_**I do not own newsies. There, happy Disney? Stupid disclaimer, gotta ruin my day by stating the obvious….**_

**MARTY: Would ya get to the friggin' story, already?**

**MUSH: Yeah, we's gonna get old an' ugly before you get done whining.**

**SPOT: Not possible. But yeah, get to the story. They want to see more of me.**

_**Egotistic….fine. But before that, thanks to ktkakes and Matches and all those who reviewed.**_

Something bothered me about Spot. He had a cool, steady, confident air about him that reminded me of something…or someone. His eyes had a hard look in them, like he'd had to grow up too fast. But that wasn't it. Like maybe he knew things…or saw things, things that the others couldn't see.

I shook my head. No, it had to be something else…I shifted uncomfortably on the cobblestone street I was sitting on. What _was_ it? I coughed, and shifted my gaze, as he caught me studying him. _This is_ _awkward…_

Though it seemed to take forever, the other boys soon returned, and with them were several others, all wearing newsboy hats and excited expressions. I was introduced briefly, by Jack, who then rattled off each of the newcomers names almost faster than I could find the face to which the name belonged.

As the fellows started to excitedly discuss the upcoming event in Brooklyn, Jack, Spot, and a boy named David began to holler over them.

"Alright, alright, if we's gonna go, lets get started so we can get back before midnight. So let's get goin'."

Mush ran up beside me as we turned and began walking. "This'll be great, Marty! We ain't been to Brooklyn since the celebration after the strike! Spot's invited most all us newsies…not all'a us could come, of coarse, but most a' the Manhattan boys is goin'."

He shook his head as we walked, a wide boyish grin on his face. "It'll be a little cold to swim off the docks, but I'll bet there'll be some guys in the water anyway."

Mush continued to talk excitedly about the upcoming fight, evidently to be between two tough Brooklyn boys, and about Spot, the other newsies, even about this strike he had mentioned.

It was evident that these guys had been through a lot together, and they were like a big family. Although just over a year had passed since the strike,

Listening to Mush, I began to better understand who Spot and Jack and David were, and why they were leaders. I still wondered…but why had Spot nearly confronted me back there? I shrugged, deciding not to worry about it.

I followed the newsboys as we went merrily down the winding streets. I noticed how lighthearted this bunch was, even Spot at times, how they laughed and jostled each other, all full of good-natured teasing and joking.

Mush and Racetrack and a crippled boy named Crutchy walked just ahead of me, having a lively discussion about some broad at a horserace…or something.

I just listened to all of their lively banter as we walked, noticing how different life seemed when you were with the wrong people. Or the right people. In all the business establishments and workplaces, the city seemed dark, dreary, and even hostile.

But since meeting some of these boys- Chance, Mush, Racetrack- I had felt something out of the ordinary. The difference could be described like a heartbeat, or that of a lively song as it's sung by _many _voices. The very pulse of the city. _Their_ song.

It wasn't an audible thing. It seemed more discrete, like something they carried inside themselves, a happiness, in the midst of good reason to despair.

I laughed as I saw Boots, whom I had seen before, I recalled, run by and swipe Race's cigar right out of his teeth. Race hollered at him indignantly and tried to look mad, but he really wasn't.

I suddenly felt a connection with them. They were offering friendship by including me in their activities, and I appreciated it. Looking at Mush, I again felt thankful that he had kept my secret, no questions asked. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. Boots had come and positioned himself behind Mush, who was holding the grumbling Racetrack back and throwing good-natured punches at him.

_Maybe, _I thought to myself laughing at their antics,_ " just maybe you should have accepted these fellas' offers for friendship sooner, when they first offered. Maybe it __**is**__ worth the risk._

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We had walked for quite a bit, sometimes taking wild shortcuts, before we reached Brooklyn Bridge. I had never been this far out of Manhattan since coming to New York, and I couldn't hide my excitement as we crossed over.

Several of the younger boys screamed over the edge as we walked across the huge bridge, laughing as they heard the sound echo and reecho over the water and steel holdings. The older fellows, especially Jack and Spot, I noticed, rolled their eyes, as though _they _had _never_ been party to such doings.

It was an hour or so until sundown when we arrived at the Brooklyn docks, where there were lots of boys and young men everywhere, shooting craps or dice or simply sitting around talking.

I did note that the easy-going, good-natured spirit of the Manhattan newsies was not altogether shared by the Brooklyn boys, but no one had been unfriendly. Yet.

As we walked on down the dock, I noticed that Spot was no longer with our group. Where had he gone?


	7. Waiting

More and more newsboys of all ages kept arriving, and by sunset the dock where we waited was extremely crouded. Dozens of dirty oil lanterns swung from wooden posts, casting an eerie glow on the place.

I saw Mush stand on a stack of huge crates and wave in our direction.

"Jack! Blink, Chance, Marty! Ovah here!" I followed the other fellas through the crowd of milling newsboys and climbed up onto the big slats of wood. I plopped down next to Mush and Chance. I watched as a small area was cleared for the fight and a makeshift ring made of old rope was formed. Everyone was so upbeat and happy! I looked down at my hands. I was suddenly homesick. I remembered the plains and the people of home. The sounds that surrounding me sounded so familiar-excited, hopeful, teasing- and yet...so foreign. Mush suddenly elbowed me and pointed out across the water. I looked.

"Well I'll be darned," I said quietly. The moon had come up and was shining in brilliant rivulets on the waters' normally dirty-looking surface. Streaks of red and orange still lingered on the horizon on one side as well.

Mush studied my face, and I turned and smiled at him. He grinned and whispered, "Not bad, huh?"

Jack and Blink and Bumlets suddenly busted out singing a lively Irish drinking song, and soon all the newsboys on the docks were laughing and joining in the happy mirth. I watched them with a half smile on my face.

As the song finally finished, Mush poked me in the ribs. "So, hey Marty, you still sad at me?" His eyes twinkled.

_"Sad _at you? You mean mad? I'm not mad." I laughed and punched him in the arm.

"Nah, nah, see, they'se a difference." Mush spoke slowly, as if speaking to a small child, but he was hiding a grin behind his straight face. "You can just be SO sad at someone, and not exactly mad at 'em. See?" He looked extremely pleased with his knowledge on the subject.

I snorted, "Ha! No I'm not mad or sad at anyone. Just... Hey look! That wouldn't be one of the fellers whats gonna fight tonight, is it?"

We turned our attention to a large man who had just arrived. He was razzing the boys and spitting on his fists, so it certainly looked like he was planning on a fight. I found myself shaking my head in disbelief. This feller couldn't be a newsie, he was simply too big! He looked to be around twenty three or four years old.

I asked Blink and Jack about this, since Mush seemed to suddenly occupied in an inpromptu armwrestling match with Racetrack. And was losing...

"Aw nah, they ain't newsies, really, but they's a bunch of fellas what's too old ta do newsie work, but they needs big fellas ta help around the delivery areas ta load and unload real quick-like, y'know? Brooklyn ain't the safest place to do business on the streets, so the bigshots in charge decided to hire the boys thats got too big to sell papes." He shrugged, "That's what Spot says."

A din set up behind our conversation as Mush finished the arm wrestling match. Race protested loudly that he was a cheater, and I laughed at their tustling. Above us, on the next level, I did not see the eyes that watched our every move...

**Sorry for the short chappie, I just felt so guilty for not updating sooner...Needed to get over the writers block. PLEASE keep the reviews coming, they make my day. and don't worry, I DO know where this is headed now (haha!), it just is going to take a day or so to finish the upcoming chapter...It'll be faster if you review. hint. Thanks to those who reviewed last time! **


	8. Chapter 8

I began to think as the noise around me grew increasingly louder. I was glad that I had accepted Mush's offer for friendship. I owed him that much, I reckoned, for saving my skin at our first meeting. And the second meeting...blast! I grinned a little at the thought. He had also kept my identity a secret from his pals, and although neither of us had said anything, I could tell that he was curious as to why I chose to live as a boy in Manhattan. I stole a glance at him and noticed him watching me again. Well, I supposed it might be nice to have at least one person that a fellow knows he can trust as his friend.

Just as the sun disappeared over the horizon, a redheaded, short coupled boy of about eighteen with scars on his face suddenly appeared in the ring below us. He gave a loud, piercing whistle through his teeth to get the attention of the rowdy men and boys who were by now swarming all over Brooklyn's docks.

"Aye, we's a'carryin' th' banner, eh, lads?"

The crowd roared their approval upon hearing the young man and hooted good-naturedly at his Irish brogue. With a wide grin the boy swept his newsboy cap off and bowed deeply at the waist, enjoying every second of the crowd's interaction with him. I couldn't help but laugh as several of the Manhattan newsies threw their hats into the air and blew kisses to the young, sanguine vagrant.

After a few moments the young man held up his hands to quiet the now noisy hoodlums. Once he had them listening again, he went on to tell in great detail, after he had thanked Spot and his boys for their hospitality, who would be fighting tonight and where they were from. His speech sounded as if it were copied off a real genuine announcer, although his improper grammar and humor made it clear that he was also jocularly mocking the formalities. At any rate, the people gathered hooted and cheered when he was finished and introduced the first fighter.

As he began the introduction for the other contestant, I noticed little Chance fidgeting and squirming around where he sat, looking thoroughly bored. He _was_ a little young to enjoy an outing like this.

"Hey, bud, want to go over there, by the water?" I asked, pointing to the side where several young boys near his age sat, throwing stones into the harbor. His eyes lit up and he nodded enthusiastically. I took his hand and stood up, gruffly excusing myself from the other fellas, namely Mush and Racetrack, who were still trying to listen to the announcer.

We walked quickly around the makeshift bleachers that had been set up, and I found a large wooden post where I could lean and see the fight and also keep an eye on Chance. The little boy walked timidly up to the other boys and said hello. I grinned as they immediately took him in to there little group. Turning my attention to the fight, I saw that the second contestant had entered the ring. He was a muscular, stocky boy, but appeared to be quite agile. I remembered watching my mothers' people back home in similar contests. Heck, even the cowhands back home had there fights and bets. My pa could whup them all.

I grinned as I noted the first fighter make a mistake in calculation as he threw the first punch, and it only glanced off the stocky boy's head.

The newsboys and dock workers howled as the fight progressed. I watched with vague interest as the two obviously skilled fighters tangled. I checked Chance over my shoulder every couple of seconds, to make sure he was still all right. I was a bit away from the crowd, and to my right there was a stack of barrels filled with water. Behind them was a very dark, open area that was about a hundred yards long, and went back up to the mainland.

Just as I focused my attention back on the fight, I felt a rough hand grab my shoulder and yank me toward the stack of barrels. My initial reaction had never been to cry out, and so I retaliated by wrenching away quickly and turning to face whoever this might be. A lantern hanging from the post just barely illuminated the muscular form of a suspendered figure. I squared up.

"Can I help you, partner?" I said quietly, sizing things up. The noise from the ring would easily drown out anything that might happen here.

The figure looked surprised at my reflexes, and paused a moment, before flashing a smirk. "Texas, is it?" The figure removed his hat and tossed it aside, and dirty dark blond hair fell into icy blue eyes. I cocked my head to the side, wondering what on earth Spot wanted. I could see briefly a curious look flit across his face, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle that he couldn't quite figure... Then he moved toward me threateningly, in the direction of the barrels. I stepped toward him, not willing to give him the advantage right at first. We were close to the same size, although he obviously had a few more muscles than me.

Surprised at my boldness, Spot chuckled. Then without warning he struck quickly with his left hand and pushed me back, in the same general direction as before. I tripped on a coil of rope and fell hard onto the wooden dock, but rolled to my feet immediately.

I was suddenly grateful that I had learned, from my brothers, to be quick, and watchful of your opponent's moves. Although it wasn't considered appropriate in my mother's culture, my father had insisted that I be taught to defend myself. He reasoned that if men, who were stronger, must learn self defense, it is doubly important for a woman to have some training.

Spot's face was set determinedly, eyes flashing, as he drove in again, but this time I sidestepped just enough to avoid a blow, and at the same time belted him hard in the stomach with an undercut. He doubled over in surprise, and I said, "Well, now, Brooklyn, we don't have no bones to pick with each other." I studied him thoughtfully, then drawled, "Why don't you just settle down a bit, and we can talk?"

But Spot wasn't interested in talking. He hadn't been angry before, but now I could see a dangerously wild look on his features as he lunged at me, and I knew that I had to be quick, for he was most definitely stronger than I was, even though my muscles were hard from stable work. Before I could move this time, he doubled up and landed a stinging blow to my nose. I staggered back, with my hand to my face. My vision was blurred, and I could feel blood. But there was no time to waste now, and I flung a hard right from my position and came in as fast as I could, and peppering him with blows to his face and chest. I miscalculated one punch, and I missed. Spot blocked and grabbed, twisting it. I tried not to yell, gritting my teeth, but soon didn't need to because the air was knocked out of me by a smashing hit to my stomach.

I kicked his knee hard, forcing myself to think through the pain, trying to breath as I did. He yowled painfully, then with an angry growl, Spot tackled me full force, and we both hit the hard surface of the dock with a crack. Something suddenly changed as we hit the ground. I wasn't sure what, but he wasn't fighting as good.

Trying to pin each other, we rolled over several times, each trying to get the upper hand. My knee came up brutally into Spot's stomach, and I pounded the back and sides of his head hard, with both fists. I was aiming for his temple. I hadn't started this fight, but doggen, I'd like to finish it!

He tried to shield the blows with one arm, and even though I couldn't see, I could feel something sticky on my knuckles. Either his face or my hand was bleeding.

He finally rolled me over and pinned my arms above my head with great effort, because I was fighting wild now, and I knew where to hit. Since tackling me, he hadn't hit me once, and now he just sat there for a second, keeping me pinned, and both of us caught our breath for a moment. My lungs burned, and Ii gasped for air. Most people don't realize how much energy a fight really takes. Trust me, its a lot.

I waited, wondering what he would do. He shifted a little so that he was leaning over me, still carefully keeping my arms over my head, and his body flattening mine. Then he came down face to face, his nose almost touching mine, a smirk lighting on his face. His eyes burned in a way that I _knew _wasn't just elation from winning the scuffle, and we looked at each others' now bloody faces. His body pressed against mine.

We breathed hard for a moment, then…… I knew it was over. The secret…was out.

"I knew it," he said quietly, but with triumph in his voice. "I _knew _you was a girl. You almost had me fooled by the way you fights, but I knew."

One of Spot's hands trailed down my arm to my chin, and his face was seductively close to mine. His eyes held a hint of humor as he wiped the blood off of his cheek and licked his lips, and I could feel his hot breath close on my neck. I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. "You had better get off of me…right _now, partner."_

His hand trailed to my waist and he said huskily, blue eyes flashing, "Somethin' was different, I knew you wasn't no boy. You had me thinkin' I'd been wrong, cause you are a dang good fighter. I wouldn'ta pounded you if you hadn'ta fought like a boy." His lips barely brushed the curve of my jaw.

I opened my eyes and jerked my arms free. With one hand I grabbed a handful of blond hair, and with the other grabbed Spot's face and pushed it hard, sending him sprawling.

I jumped to my feet, and Spot leapt up again to face me. But I realized he wasn't looking at me. His gaze went past me. I turned and saw Jack, Race, David, and Much running quickly towards us, Chance pulling them by the hand.


	9. Chapter 9

My dark, quiet anger brewed under the surface as i jogged at a right smart pace back towards Manhattan. Mush, Jack, Race, and David had briefly tried to piece together what had happened from Chance's explanation, and from what they had seen as they had come running.

Spot had said little in his defense, only motioning towards me, saying, "_He's_ a she."

I had just passed Sheepshead, the racing central for jockeys that was on the outskirts of Brooklyn, when I suddenly heard a shout far behind me, and I recognized Mush's voice, telling me to wait up along with a few others. Probably Jack or Race. Gritting my teeth, I determinedly sped up to a sprint, relying on my endurance to get away from them. My mother's brother had been a champion runner in his tribe, and trained me and my brother well.

Upon having such a head start, I outdistanced them fairly quickly, and kept going at a pretty good clip until I reached the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

It was already past two in the morning now, I suspected. My lungs felt as if they were going to explode out of my chest, and my abdominals ached from the blow they had taken. I doubled over, trying to catch my breath. What had I done? What had just happened?

I managed to begin walking again, although mighty shakily, as I attempted to sort out the night's events.

_Did he really know all along? What would have happened if Mush and Race and Jack hadn't come running when they did. What would Spot have done?_

My thoughts tumbled over one another. My nose hurt and I couldn't see too good as I stumbled along the cobblestone street, which was barely illuminated by a small streetlight ever once in a while.

My thoughts, despite my unwillingness to think them, came. I thought of how Spot's eyes seemed to burn with a life of their own, how the look of triumph had glittered across them as our bodies were pressed together. How his lips had brushed my skin ever so briefly. He _was_ attractive. My mind rebelled at this thought, and I angrily returned to nursing my aching limbs and injuries as I limped along. _He had no right…_

I wondered what the others would think of me now. I remembered how just a few short hours ago I had walked this same route with the newsies and felt such a connection with them.

And Mush. Mush had been my only friend in this city, besides little Chance. Would he reject me after my battle with his Brooklyn comrade?

I saw the figures of two men up ahead, and I ducked into the alley to go around them. _Only a few more blocks…_

I tried to jog along at a fairly quick pace, and finally came within sight of the fire station/stable where I stayed. I hoped that I could at least get into the loft.

As I passed the statue of Horace Greeley, I stopped.

I couldn't get in. I could see that the windows long ago had been boarded for the night, and the rope that some of the boys used to climb into the loft had been pulled up. _Blast..._

With a weary sigh, I curled up beside the front steps and dozed a little.

O0o0oo0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o

It had been maybe two hours when a huge, rough hand grabbed my shoulder. Jerking awake, I balled my fists and swung blindly, the memory of my latest attack fresh in my mind. A shout sounded loudly in my ear and strong arms held me from behind. I struggled, silently willing myself to be stronger than whoever held me. I sent an elbow behind me, and heard a small _oof _as someone took the hit in the stomach. I kicked viciously at the figure in front of me, who was trying to come closer.

"Marty. MARTY! It's me, it's me, Mush!"

I slowly came back to my senses, and shamefully slumped against my captor, who still held me from behind. I glanced back and saw that Jack, who's handsome face was unreadable, was the one who held me. He let go and I faced the newcomers. "Sorry, Jack," I mumbled, feeling awful. Jack half grinned, his hand rubbing his rib. Race, David and Mush stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

I cleared my throat. "I, uh, suppose y'all will be wanting an explanation…on this, uh...seemingly important gender issue at hand...which I will be more than happy to give. As soon as I think of one."

Racetrack stifled a laugh, and came over and gave me a friendly pat on the back.

"You're aw'right, Marty. Even if ya is a goil. Say, Jack, I better go tell the other boys she made it back. thy may still be out lookin'."

"'K, Race, sure." Jack waved as he trotted off. He then turned and grinned sheepishly at me. "We didn't know if you'd…. You got a pretty good head start on us, so…"

Turning to Mush he said, "I think you'd best take care of th' rest."

Jack turned and offered me his hand, purposefully _not_ spitting in it. I grinned at him, and shook. I noticed that he was careful with my bruised hand. He then turned and headed with David around the corner toward the Lodging House.

I glanced at Mush, feeling defensive, yet knowing I owed him an explanation. After all, he had kept the secret all this time, no questions asked.

"I had to get out of there."

Mush nodded as though he understood. "We just felt responsible for ya since you was with us. Listen," he said, "I just want to say that tonight was just a big mistake. Brooklyn boys are good fellas, just tough, and…"

"Partner, it really don't matter. Brooklyn," I shook my head in disgust, "that's irrelevant. All I know is that I had a better chance of makin' a livin' if I was a feller, and.." He cut me off.

"Please, you need an explanation. You don't need to give one. I don't care why you wanted to keep your identity secret, but I _do_ think you need to hear one for everything that happened tonight."

Mush, despite his poor grammer, was not uneducated. Every once in a while, I had noticed, beneath his seemingly naïve persona, was detected the glimmer of someone who had a superb intellect, who used the slang and lazy speech in the same way I had back home…as a means of blending in. I suspected that this was true of one or two of the other newsies as well. Not all of them of course, but a few.

"Hear me out, okay? You kinda got off on the wrong foot with Spot. He isn't like what you're thinking. He's alright. A _good _fella, really." His soft brown eyes studied me intently, waiting for a response.

"Well now, this _good fella_ seems to have some bones to pick. Least til he fig'ured he'd found hisself a good lay." My quietly serious reply made Mush's eyes flash.

He grabbed my shoulders firmly, and made me sit down. "Marty," he said, his voice telling me that I had no choice but to listen, "Spot isn't the kind that molests or beats women. He is, in his own way, well… somethin' of a gentleman." Mush coughed and looked uncomfortable. I raised an eyebrow at him, waiting. "He ain't perfect. None of us is."

He continued, "But he is the kind that won't befriend someone whom he can't trust, or someone who seems to be hiding something. He just wanted to go talk to you, see why you was hidin' the fact that you'se a girl." And I didn't say nothin'!" He added defensively, seeing my suddenly suspicious expression. "I didn't know why ya didn't want th' fellas to know, but I respected that! Honest!" He searched my face, his eyes pleading with me to believe him.

"Spot Conlon didn't get to be where he is today by bein' stupid. He's got more goin' on in his head all the time than prob'ly all the rest of us put together."

" He reads people, and is usually right in the conclusions he comes to." Mush shook his head, taking a deep breath.

"I honestly didn't know he was gonna talk to ya. I should'a known he would be able to tell that something was amiss."

He looked me in the eye. "But I do know that when you reacted like you did, fighting back like that when he tried to take you aside, it made him think he'd made a mistake. He figured you _had_ to be a guy. He isn't used to seeing gilrs with such quick reflexes. You gotta admit, Marty, you are a rare kinda person around here...all quiet deliberate, but a fighter, too... Spot is a proud kid, Marty. You challenged him, and he felt as if he couldn't back down without saving face later, although I can promise you he _would_ have if he had known you was a gal."

Mush ran his fingers through his curly hair, mussing it. "That is the only reason he fought you. And trust me, he coulda gotten in a whole mess of trouble even with his boys for beatin' on a girl. Lucky for him no one else knew neither."

He sat beside me on the steps, and all was silent for a few moments. I could hear a cricket singing under the loose boards. _Wonder what time it is._

I looked at him, trying to tell what was going on in his head. He chuckled. "Dang, Marty, where on earth did ya learn to fight like that? Little Chance said you was fightin' like nothin' he'd ever seen! He said you was so quick… And from th' looks of Spot…dang, you musta really pounded..."

He suddenly seemed to become aware of my y nose and saw how I was still holding my stomach. "Here," he muttered, handing me his handkerchief, "try ta clean up a little. Your knuckles is gonna be pretty bruised. Why don't we…"

"Mush…." I searched for words, not knowing exactly what I wanted to say, "Mush, why is saving face so important to Spot? Why is everyone so careful around him? I guess he's tough enough, but...can't just be that, can it?" Spot's eyes had told me things. They told me he'd been through a lot, and yet somehow survived--thrived, even--with some sort of savage cunning and willpower.

Mush was silent for a while, gazing up at the stars just barely visible through the developing fog. "It is just the way you have to be in Brooklyn." He looked back at me before quickly averting his eyes.

"Bad stuff happens everywhere, Marty, but more happens there. Don't ask me why, but it does. Growing up over there you gotta know how to use ya head to survive."

"Spot had an older brother who formed a gang, mostly newsies, when he was around sixteen, to keep its members safe from…well… the grown men in the city. Brooklyn ain't much of a safe place at night. Or in the day, for that matter."

Taking a moment to light a cigarette, he took a draw and blew it out his nose.

"Well, after a while, Brooklyn newsboys was teachin' th' little fellas how to use slingshots and switchblades. They had to be able to take care of their own, and they did. When Spot's brother died, Spot was thirteen. He took over leadership in the gang, even though some of the older boys wanted it." Mush shook his brown curls.

"But Spot was smart. I'm tellin' you, that kid'll think circles around any of us. He had seen how things was done and how things had to be handled. he knew hot to negotiate and organize, and he is more educated than all of us put togetha. He just jumped in and took over. There was a few big fights, but he always came out on top. Even that young."

I noticed that much of Mush's thick accent disappeared as he told me the story. I was sure there was more behind his own angular, innocent-looking face as well.

He chuckled. "During the strike a couple years ago he was still a pretty little fella. But we couldn'ta done it without 'im. Still can't do without 'im. "

Spot still wasn't huge, but he was lean and wiry. I guessed him to be around Mush's age, seventeen or eighteen. I also sensed that Mush must have been good friends with Spot at some point. Maybe still is.

"So that's why everyone has this…sort of 'awe', I guess, for Spot and Brooklyn?" I wondered, rubbing my chin.

"Mostly."

We sat together in silence for a while, just thinking. I thought with chagrin how much I owed to this amazing young man. Too much. But somehow…it was okay.

"Mush…" I rubbed my chin nervously...

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for…caring." I tried not to stumble on my words. Dang, it was hard to be open. "Not many folks do."

He glanced at me and smiled his boyish grin at me. He took both my bruised hands and brought them to his lips. Kissing them like a gentleman, he said teasingly,

"My pleasure, my lady."

**A.N.: **

**Okay! I am back from the grave! Thanks to you lovely reviewers who keep the encouragement coming. Hope this chapter wasn't too boring. If you have any ideas for later twists in the plot, or characters to add , leave them in a review. Also, I plan more Spot drama later. But Mush is a mysterious fellow himself! Wonder what is behind those luscious dark eyes…****more ideas, but I just don't want to develop it if no one is reading it. So tell me if you are reading it!**


	10. That's How We Do

I decided after a while that it was too much of a risk to keep trying to work at the fire stations' stable. After finding Mr. Graff and explaining things to him, I thanked him profusely for his kindness.

Shaking his head, he had chuckled, "If you ain't the darnest gal…good luck, little lady! Keep yer chin up! Don't you let them boys get to ya."

Racetrack had been talking to me the other day about the races at Sheepshead. I had asked about it, and he had told me that boys sometimes were hired for grooms, depending on their level of experience.

Mush was in favor of checking out the idea, but had added, "You better let 'em know you's a goil this time, Marty. Might avoid some hassles." _Or set me up for more of them,_ I thought.

Although I figured my chances of getting hired were slim if I followed his advice, I had a plan that I figured might work. Race and I were planning to check it out the next weekend…six days away. _Well…If it doesn't work out, there is always the factories._

It had been almost a week since the fiasco in Brooklyn. My bruises were almost unnoticeable now and my nose didn't hurt at all. Although the ruckus had caused a small stir, no one but had mentioned it to me again. Since I had almost a week with nothing to do, I found myself enjoying the company of Mush and the others more frequently.

On hearing several of the boys say that Spot was coming to Manhattan in a day or so, I decided to be careful to avoid him if he did come…

Monday morning I decided to put on some different clothes. I wasn't trying to hide anything now, so I figured there was no need to look frumpy.

I put on my underclothes and then an old white shirt with the sleeves rolled half way up. I considered the buckskin britches, but decided on the trousers because they fit better. Checking my reflection in a store window, I knew I would look odd, but, doggone it, I was comfortable!

I wandered around the East Side for a while, and finally sat down on an open-ended wooden box close to the spot where I knew Chance ended up for his last hour of selling. The place was busy and always bustling with people on the go. Several huge factories loomed behind the stands of sellers, and I knew Mush would be off work soon.

Hearing a man shouted down the street, and I looked and saw a large, black dog barreling down the cobblestone sidewalk in my direction, a string of sausages held firmly in his teeth. He dodged passersby and I saw the comical gleam in his eye, reminding me of a mischievous child.

Just as the man almost had him, the dog made a flying leap, and clearing the box I was sitting on, and me, by inches, and scrambled into the open end, out of sight.

My mouth dropped open, and I looked at the man's face, which had the dang funniest look on it you ever saw. I tried to stifle the guffaw that came out, but it was no use. It tickled me to see an animal think on his feet like that. I was near doubled over laughing by the time I realized that the man had no kind intentions for the dog. He had a butcher knife in his hand, and the gleam in his eye told me he intended take get his money's worth out of the big dog's hide.

I chuckled as I stepped in front of him, still trying to wipe the grin off my face.

"Hold on, mister. I'll buy the meat. Let the dog be an' I'll take care of it, alright?"

The man paused, his fat face sweaty and red. "That dirty thief wrecked almost half my cart! It ain't the first time, either. This time I'm takin' care of the problem for good!"

He took a step toward me and the box, and I didn't move. "Come on, now, let me help ya get your stand back together, and I'll take the dog out of here." I was still grinning, but froze as I heard the voice behind me.

"Sure, mister, we'll take care of it. I'll pay your damages, for your trouble."

I wanted to whirl and face the familiar voice behind me, but I stopped myself. _Not now. Not yet._

The newcomer on the scene walked casually up to stand beside me, his icy gaze resting coolly on the dog's tail, which was hanging halfway out of the box, wagging comically back and forth. A smirk played at the corners of his mouth, and I thought I saw a flicker of humor dance across his eyes.

Spot then turned to face the still angry hawker, who was by now starting to consider the offer, a greedy light on his face. "Well… there was all that damage…"

"I think twenty-five cents should cover it fine," Spot said with an air of disinterest. "I saw all your damage, mister, and it won't take five minutes to put everything back."

I watched suspiciously, eyeing the young man in suspenders next to me as if he might turn on me at any moment. But the deal was squared, and the hawker left us with the monstrous dog, who was still merrily eating his sausages.

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I folded my arms and turned to face my unwelcome companion, who was eyeing me with slight interest. Wishing that I had worn my normal clothes today, I clenched my teeth and met his gaze squarely, determined to keep my face as unreadable as his. I could barely make out the dark outlines of bruises on his face from our previous encounter; one around his eye, the other on his cheek, just above the curved jawline.

"Been lookin' for ya, Texas." Spot sat down beside where I stood and took out a cigarette and took a draw.

My jaw tightened, and I had to fight back a sharp retort. "Oh?"

"Wanted to talk to you." He blew the smoke out his nose and looked at me. He seemed to search for words for a second, his face serious. He wasn't smiling now. He motioned for me to sit next to him. I considered for a moment, then stubbornly shook my head and folded my arms casually. Spot shrugged, as if telling me to suit myself.

"Listen, I just wanted to say that I…" he paused and sighed. "I had a feelin' you was a girl _before_ we got to Brooklyn. I wanted to talk to you, that's all. When you…"

"I know." I cut him off, drawling my words. "Mush gave me ya story." In my heart I knew that what Mush had told me was probably true--that the whole thing was a big mistake-- but I couldn't help being a might peevish with this young _pup. _After all, he came _done_ near beatin' my face in for no reason the other night.

Spot's eyes flashed angrily, furious at being interrupted in the middle of his explanation. He turned on me, venom in his voice.

"Better not push it, girl."

I bent down to pat the dog, which had come out if the box and was sitting next to us, cocking his head in a quizzical manner.

"Well, partner, what're ya gonna do? Whop me?" I grinned amiably. "Any time, Brooklyn. Bring it on."

I suddenly felt a steely grip on my arm and before I could react I was being forced to look directly into those searching, ice blue orbs. I was again held prisoner, though not in the same manner as before.

His face inches from mine, Spot's lips lifted into a cocky smirk.

"No one gets the best of Spot Conlon."

I thought of struggling, but thought better of it, simply glaring cooly back at him. "Yeah? Well, I'm sure no one ever does, cause you don't seem to _have _a best, _son_."

He paused raised an eyebrow, the most his expression had changed in our entire meeting.

"Son? Did you call me son?" His voice was husky, and he leaned in closer. I turned my head, leaning as far away as I could get.

He let go of me. I could barely hide my sigh of relief, and I cursed inwardly as I tried to read that damned cool expression of his. Then I could see an unmistakable twinkle in his eye as he turned and patted the big dog, who was looking quite unimpressed by the whole issue at hand.

"Texas, he's all yours. Can't imagine why you'd want 'im." Spot scratched his ears, and I couldn't help but grin as the dog growled playfully and leaned into Spot's patting. I glanced at Spot's face again, wondering how he could be such a puzzle..

Across the street, I happened at that moment to see Mush's hulking figure jaunting towards us. He must have just gotten off work. I glanced back at Spot, who had also caught sight of Mush. Speaking very deliberately, he said, "So that's how we stands, is it?"

Although he hadn't elaborated on what exactly "that" was, I knew. We weren't exactly enemies, but neither of us, it seemed, were ready to trust each other as friends.

"I reckon. That's how it stands."

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After Mush had come, Spot coolly left, without saying much of anything. As I explained briefly what had happened, we studied my new charge with interest. After giving the big dog a once over, I decided to try to keep him.

Mush helped me take him to the lodging house, where I was staying for the rest of the week with the housekeeper. The dog was downright wriggly with glee as he met all the newsboys, whining and wagging his tail all over the place. He even knocked Race's cigar box off its stand, eliciting a haughty cry, then snickers.

"What'cha gonna call him?" Mush asked as the boys crowded around to see the massive scoundrel, who was clearly enjoying the attention.

"Call him trouble," Race grumbled good-naturedly. Blink and Jack laughed and heckled him.

Several suggestions rang out, but none that seemed to fit. Chance knelt beside the dog, obviously taken with him. He buried his hands in the dog's thick, black coat, and giggled as he received a wet kiss on his cheek, and his blue eyes sparkled happily.

"Well, hmm. What do ya think, Chance? Know any good names for a pup, partner?"

Chance looked up eagerly, his eyes dancing. "Call him Riley, Marty! I had one one time named Riley. He was nice. 'Cept for that he wasn't black."

I couldn't help but smile at his serious baby talk. I nodded encouragingly.

"Riley it is!"

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The week passed quickly for me, and soon I had landed the job at the racetrack. My plan had been well thought out, and with Race's help, it had come through beautifully. Race had told people about some kid who really knew horses, and convinced several of the owners to watch me work with them. So we had set out, Racetrack, Crutchy, Riley and I, (that dang dog went everywhere with me now), to show 'em what we could do.

I had arrived at the stable area at Sheepshead, and looked with wonder at the huge track. About twenty people stood waiting at the breezing area, and three or four grooms were working the horses.

Taking a deep breath, I followed Race over to the knot of people. Race talked for a moment with a man in a suit, who pointed to a large, well-muscled bay stallion who stood tied to the railing. I understood that this was to be the one that I would ride today. Our plan was for Race to tell them that I was a girl after I was already on the horse.

After some brief instructions, basically just a short jog around the track, I began to check the saddle and tack to make sure in was ready. Then, untying the bay, I led him to the track and proceeded to mount.

But just as my rear end hit the saddle, the big stallion let out a snort and began violently pitching and bucking, snaking his body in every direction as he tried to rid himself of the weight on his back.

I jammed my feet firmly into the stirrups and leaned back, centering myself to ensure my balance, despite the stallion's frantic efforts. He bellowed and worked himself into a frenzy, rearing so high that I had to grab his thick mane to hold on.

When he came down again I began to pull upward on one rein firmly, bending his head in one direction. This prevented him from getting his head down to buck, but he still rolled his eyes at me in fear and rage.

I spoke softly in my own native language to the horse. One hand still on the reins, I gently rubbed his neck soothingly. He sidestepped nervously, chomping at the bit, the whites of his eyes still showing. I continued this until he slowed and stopped, and then kept touching him til he relaxed. As soon as I felt him relax, I took all the pressure from my hands and the reins away, rewarding him.

After letting him rest for a moment, I clicked to him and touched him gently with my heels. Squealing and letting out a little crowhop, he began trotting stiffly, head high in the air. I kept up my talking, and soon he slowed to a walk. Again, as soon a he relaxed, I took the pressure away. I continued this for several more minutes, then patted his neck.

Stopping, I slid to the ground. Landing next to the big horse, I glanced back at the group. They stared at me open mouthed, and suddenly I understood. It had been a test. Or a trick.

Feeling suddenly very dizzy, I grabbed for the thick mane to support myself. Missing, I hit the ground hard, and was violently sick. After emptying my insides at least down to my boots, I finally felt Crutchy's hand on my shoulder.

"Any blood in it, Race?"

Ractrack looked at me in amazement. "Not a bit."

I struggled to my feet with their help, eying the horse who now stood very docile beside us.

The man in the suit explained to me that he tested all the boys on this horse, and if they stayed on, they were hired.

"But I've never seen one of them ride him to a standstill! You even had him calm! Why, I'll bet you could have him race ready in a few months!" He shook his head. "You are hired, girl or not!"

I looked at Race and Crutchy, and then down at Riley, who was wagging his tail and grinning up at me.

I grinned at them all, a little weakly.

"That's how we do, in Texas."


	11. Chapter 11

My job at the tracks was probably the most fun I had had in years. After watching some of the techniques I used, a race horse owner named Gibbons offered me a job in the mornings, teaching the other grooms and working with the younger horses. The job was very physical, and constantly brought memories of Texas and home. This was a good thing for me. And a bad thing.

A young groom of about seventeen, named Jonathan, was my assistant. He had wavy brown hair and freckles, and was seemingly very serious. But I detected a dry sense of humor under his straight face, and we had lots of fun together. He learned quickly.

After three o'clock every day Racetrack would find me, and we would go find the other boys. I stayed at the track, but I still visited my friends.

Riley was constantly with me, underfoot, or lolling about in the shade while I trained the grooms and horses. His good-natured, easy-going disposition made him a favorite.

Mush always teased me, and the other fellas followed suit, usually mocking my Texas drawl or something like that. But I didn't mind too much. It was all in good fun.

Spot hadn't been around much since Riley had come along, and that was fine with me. I enjoyed the carefree afternoons and exciting mornings that my life now consisted of.

One afternoon, as I walked toward the square with Race and Mush, Riley close at our heels, I saw the other boys up ahead, beside the statue of Horace Greeley, shooting craps and playing stickball. I grinned as Race and Mush darted ahead, complaining loudly at having been left out. The games were put on hold for a few seconds, with the addition of three new players.

There seemed to be a few more faces here today, some of which looked familiar, but I didn't much notice.

I took a place near Kid Blink, who was up to bat, and heard him give a good-natured remark about never winning when a girl was on your team.

"Really?" I hollered at him, playing along, "Guess that's cause you ain't never played with this gal."

The catcher behind him chuckled softly. I started as I saw the red suspenders and blue eyes. Spot punched his palm and yelled to the pitcher to get going. I shook my head and glanced at Mush, who had a worried expression in his brown eyes. I gave a laid back grin in his direction, reassuring him.

The game began, with Blink hitting a single. Mush was up to bat next, and I laughed as he yawned and stretched his muscular arms. He grinned and tipped his hat to me. Jack whistled suggestively, and the boys all laughed.

Mush's first pitch sent the ball way into the street, and he made it to third base before the ball was recovered. I heard Spot swear as David's throw fell short, and Mush tagged home. I grinned and shook my head sadly as he turned and bowed jocularly in my direction.

After Skittery and Bumlets, I took my position at the plate. First pitch was a strike, and the next was high and outside. I struck and missed. Spot chuckled behind me. Gripping the stick with determination, I focused as the last pitch came. _Smack!_

I saw the ball sail over David's head into the street, and I fired around the bases. The boys hooted and shouted, and I lowered my head and pumped my legs harder. Nearing home plate, I saw little Chance get the ball and send it sailing toward home. I took one last leap and slid in. My foot touched the bag at the exact time Spot tagged me with the ball. Much harder than necessary, actually.

I heard several boys yell 'out', and I angrily stood to my feet. Spot lifted his arms and stuck his nose right in my face in what was clearly an expression that said, "What now? Whatcha gonna do?"

_That's it._ I was done. I stood taller and stepped up to him deliberately, and gave his chest a shove. The other boys gasped. Spot, furious, dove back in toward me, his face livid.

Riley, who had been resting in the shade, suddenly came alive, leaping in between me and my nemesis, bringing him to an abrupt halt. The dog began to snarl ferociously at Spot, teeth bared in a frightening manner, his curly black fur bristling on his back.

"Guys, guys! That's enough." Jack grabbed Spot back and pushed me away. "Game over for today, fellas. Get your dog away, Marty." He gave me a look that said he clearly was not pleased about having to deal with this...again.

Loud protests filled the air, but the boys began to disperse. Spot's face was a storm as I glanced at it, but I chuckled amiably and shook my head, making him all the madder.

"We ain't finished, Texas. You ain't seen the last of Spot Conlon!"

He and his boys left in a huff, their danders all up cause of a stupid game. The rest of the newsies stood around awkwardly, then began to start a card game. Instigated by Racetrack, of course.

Mush, with a troubled look in his dark eyes, motioned for me to come with him. With a sigh I called to the dog and walked with him alone down the sidewalk. We walked in silence for a while, but when we were nearing the park, Mush sat down beneath a small tree. Riley began to sniff and inspect the nearest bushes, looking for food. He kept looking back at us every once in a while, his comical expressions making me want to laugh out loud.

We watched him a while before Mush spoke. Then:

"Ya know, for someone so laid back and quiet, you sure can get Spot's nickers in a knot. Pleae, Marty, we need to keep on Brooklyn's good side! I told you Spot is a good fella, and he is. But he can only be pushed just so far before he'll start to take advantage of the game you're playing. I've been tryin' to smooth things over here, Marty, cause both of you are my friends." He mussed his tightly curled brown hair, and I could see splashes of gold in the rich brown locks. His white shirt was halfway unbuttoned, and looked as if he had grown way out of it. Which he probably had.

"Mush, you know I haven't been instigating anything, here. I go with the flow on these things. Now, I ain't lookin to make any enemies, but I don't just take what I'm given all the time. This doesn't have anything to do with Manhattan's relationship with Brooklyn."

"Marty," Mush exclaimed, his voice tinged with frustration, "You have to be careful. You can't keep...I don't know, baiting him like that, i guess. You are going to get into trouble and someone might get hurt…or worse."

With a snort, I rolled my eyes at his concern. My conscience pricked me slightly, but I ignored it.

"Listen, partner," I drawled dryly, "I can look out for myself and I don't need you to tell me anything, thank ya kindly. He ain't got no right to be like that. I haven't done nothing to him."

I turned to swagger off, but was jerked back to face him as he gripped my arm. He made me sit down next to him. His vise-like grip made me uncomfortable, and I was lucky that Mush _did _know his own strength, or I would probably have had a bruise. I couldn't help but look at the massively muscled chest and arms that restrained me. _Seems I've been in this position a lot, recently…_

"Listen to me." The command was sharp. "I've _seen_ what can happento people who play games wit' Brooklyn. _You will not end up like them,_ even if I have to stop you myself."

His chocolate hazel eyes burned as he held my wrist tightly. He searched my face with an intensity I didn't like, and I squirmed under his grip. I saw beneath his deadly calm a smoldering temper, and it made me slightly uncomfortable. I tried to look defiantly back at him, battling with him mentally with my gaze.

I had only ever before seen the joking, good-natured Mush. But beneath his gentle, quiet exterior, I was starting to see a darker, more frightening side. Although he could sometimes come across as naïve, it was only a front. Mush went deeper. A whole lot deeper.

Just as I was about to attempt to beak free again, I suddenly detected a completely different emotion flit his uncharacteristically stony face. Something in his eyes that I couldn't identify. We faced each other briefly, and my stubbornness began to fade.

Abruptly loosening his grip on my arm, he slowly brought his other hand to my face, gently brushing my cheek. The small touch, soft as it was, made me forget momentarily what on earth I had been planning to say next, and a shiver went up my spine. _What is wrong with me?_

I hadn't known the kiss was coming, or I might have tried to stop it. As it was, I had just thought of something to say when his lips pressed onto mine, cutting off my words.

Mush's kiss was forceful at first, almost as if he was staking a claim, but his big hand cradled my head gently as he pulled me to him. I fit against him as if I were made to be there. Slowly he lowered me to the soft grass beneath us.

My mind told me to stop this, but I was falling. As I timidly began to kiss him back, Mush deepened the kiss, and I felt a bit lightheaded. Confusing thoughts tumbled around in my head, and I tried to fit them together. _When…what…why…_

Mush's firm arms held me close, and his hands began to wander. Warnings sounded in my mind somewhere, and I turned my face away, trying to put a stop to this, but I shivered as his lips touched my neck.

Breathless and becoming a little nervous by now, I planted my hands on his chest, and pushed, for the kiss had become quite heated. He didn't move at first, and I began to panic, flashbacks coming back a mile a minute. I gasped and pushed harder, giving a terrified whimper. He suddenly stopped and pulled away. He looked at me, looking a bit surprised, wondering what was wrong.

With shame and bitterness I pushed him away, getting up and wiping my hand across my kiss-swollen lips. So that was it. All the time I had wondered why he had been so kind to me. I was so upset I completely missed the fact that Mush was waiting, the look on his face that of complete and utter vulnerability.

"_I.._._trusted...you_." My words were filled with such betrayal and anger that Mush's eyes filled with hurt. He reached out his hand towards me, his face stricken, in a pleading gesture.

"No…please Marty, wait…"

I backed away, almost stumbling over the dumb dog, who was wagging and bouncing around my feet. "St-stay back. Don't come closer..."

"Marty! Please! I never…"

I turned on my heel and ran, Riley close behind, a bewildered look even on his furry face.


	12. Chapter 12

The pain in my heart at the betrayal I felt was unexpected. I jogged back to Sheepshead with Riley trotting close beside me, and tried to make sense of it all. _How did I come to care like I did? I knew better than to trust people like that.  
_

I knew that I had liked Mush fine, but I'd never let myself think of anything but camaraderie between the two of us. I had to admit that I thought about him a lot, but even so, I had never given him reason to think that I was easy, or willing to be more than a friend to him.

My heart winced as I remembered the look on Mush's face right before he had kissed me. The way he had brushed my face with his hand. I gritted my teeth as I felt tears sting the back of my eyes. _Damn_ _you, Mush Meyers…_

I finally slowed and stopped, sitting on a deserted bench at the Sheepshead back entrance. There had been a horserace this morning, and trash littered the ground. I spotted a shattered piece of glass on the ground. Picking it up, I saw that it must have at one time been a small mirror; the kind ladies carried in their handbags. Riley came and laid his big head on my lap, looking questioningly at me. I ignored him.

Peering into the glass, I saw my reflection for the first time in weeks. My wavy black hair had partially grown back, reaching just to my shoulders. Although unevenly cut, it lay in thick waves around a bronze face. My dark hazel eyes gazed solemnly back at me, and I saw in them a mixture of pain and hurt, and maybe even fear. Riley whined and nudged my hand with his nose. I batted him away.

"Hey, Marty…uh, you okay?"

I looked up, and saw Race standing awkwardly in front of me, holding his hat in his hand, twisting it nervously. _Odd…_

My first instinct was to tell him to hit the road, but the look of concern in his face made me bite my lip. I took a shaky breath.

"Yessir, partner, I'm just fine," I said quietly.

Clearing his throat, Race squatted down in front of me, reminding me of someone about to explain something to a little child.

"So…I guess I should tell ya somethin'. Ya're probably thinkin' a bunch of stuff right about now, and…"

"And Mush sent you to tell me how it was all a mistake, and he never actually meant to take advantage of me?" I spat, my bitterness pervading each syllable. "Well, that's just dandy. Now, I thank you for your concern, Mr. Higgins, but I'm perfectly fine, and hope you and the other newsies haven't expended too much effort on this dame, because she isn't going to be coming around much anymore."

Race's mouth dropped open, and he looked mortally offended. He puffed up his chest and retorted, "If you'd shut yer trap and listen, I might be able to get it through your thick head what is really going on! Sheesh, talking to ya is worse than tryin' to sell a pape to the governor on a rainy day."

I sighed and shook my head, patience almost gone. I warned, "Race…"

"Save it till I'm done. Then you can talk all ya want." He stared at his feet, kicking at a piece of trash lying at his feet. "I…okay, I just want to tell you that I know, for sure, that Mush has had no intentions that are dishonorable towards ya."

He took a deep breath, "Dang it if he doesn't kill me for telling you this, but…The fella's got it for ya, Marty. He isn't the type to swoon over a dame, but I can just tell by the way he looks at ya, by th' way he acts. I've known him quite a while, and should know." He met my gaze squarely. "And you've seen how he goes out of his way to help and protect ya."

I bristled. "That is exactly what I'm talking about! He's made me trust him so that he can take what he wants." I lifted my chin. "Not me. No sir."

Race shook his head. "If you only knew. Mush isn't like that. Has he ever given you a reason not to trust him?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Till now?"

He raised his hands in disgust. "Alright, fine! But you've got it all wrong, Texas. You're throwing away a good thing. But just remember, Marty, whether you like it or not, you are part of this group." He looked into my eyes with a steely gaze. "We aren't going anywhere. You still have to see me every day at the races. The other boys will be around. It's up to you whether or not things get better, or worse."

With that, he turned and disappeared into the coming dusk.

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"_Marty! Get under the bed, now!" I heard my father's strained voice command. I shrunk back as he had instructed, pulling my 7 year old brother, Luke, behind me. I heard loud shouting and rifle reports, mingled with galloping hooves and the curses of the reservation Indians outside. They wanted my mother. Years had passed, and they had finally come for her. My father had taken all of us from the reservation two years ago. Luke whimpered and clutched my hand beside me. I looked at my father's tense face. "Pa! Let me help!" My mother held a pistol firmly in her small brown hand, and was gazing carefully out the window. "Stay put, Nayeli," she said, her black eyes determined as she used my native name," Whatever happens, you and Luke stay under the bed!" Just then, the door shattered as three angry Indians crashed through. I hid my eyes as I heard the of Pa's rifle and Ma's screams. _

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Something wet and warm was repeatedly sliding across my face. Jerking awake from my nightmare, I saw the saddles hanging on the wall and smelled the familiar stench of horse sweat and leather. I was in the Sheepshead store room, where I now stayed. My mat was on the floor, and a massive furry hulk stood directly above me. Riley's rear end wagged enthusiastically, and he licked my face again. I groaned as I pushed him off of me.

Glancing at the big clock standing in the corner, I sat up and pulled my clothes on. _Quarter to six already. Better get to work._ I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and tried to push the dream out of my mind. _So long ago…_

Riley whined and gave a little growl, telling me to hurry and let him out. With a grin, I opened the wooden door and allowed him to go outside. I could see the all the stands and bleachers from here in the doorway. The sun had not yet made it up, and the stars were barely visible through the morning fog. I admired the pinkish tint in the horizon a moment, remembering how beautiful sunrises were back home.

I went on down to the corral to get going on the day's work. I had three horses to work with, and afterwards I was to help the other grooms with their training. My first horse was a monstrous, copper stallion. Named Rising Sun by his owner, the horse had an unmasked of the starting gate. He simply would not go in. Although he could outdistance any horse on the track, it made no difference if he wouldn't approach the gate. Several jockeys and grooms had been injured trying to force him in. My task now was to cure this fear, and have him race ready as soon as possible. Not an easy job, but not impossible, either.

As I worked with the horse, I purposefully kept my thoughts away from Mush and the other newsies. Chance's dimpled face did surface in my subconscious a few times, and I could hardly bear the thought of not seeing him anymore.

Several grooms began to show up to watch me work the stallion. I pushed my troubles from my mind and concentrated on getting the big stallion to move back and forth between me and the gate. After several passes through, he began to relax slightly, and I pushed him closer. Finally, I was able to simply point in one direction, and the stallion would move off in that direction calmly. A few more minutes and we stood directly in front of the gate, the stallion submissive, his head low and he was licking his lips. Doggoned if I loved this job!

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It was early afternoon already, and as I helped Jonathan with the last horse, I heard the short jockey, who was to race him this afternoon, cough impatiently. I looked over at him and smiled politely.

"Almost finished, mister," I drawled, turning my concentration to buckling the saddle and colors firmly onto the black horse. Jonathan gently placed the bit in the horse's mouth and handed the reins to the jockey.

"It's about time," He grumbled, and turned and waited for us to help him mount. I rolled my eyes, grinning, before going and boosting him up into the saddle.

"What's got his knickers in a knot?" Jonathan muttered as the short, ill tempered jockey rode off. I laughed.

"Oh, don't mind them. They're over-paid and under-educated, far as horses is concerned." I bent down and brushed my britches off, glancing at Riley, who was sitting lazily in the shade of the white railing. I hunkered down next to him and gave his ears a tweak.

"Well, son, what are we gonna do this afternoon?"

"Well, you two could come take a walk with me. I'll buy you lunch?"

I froze as I heard the friendly voice behind me. "Mush. What on earth are you doing here?" I turned slowly, seeing his large, muscular form leaning calmly against the fence beside Jonathan, a piece of straw in his teeth. His expression was enthusiastic as usual, if not slightly anxious. His mouth was turned up in a friendly, almost shy manner, and he answered, "Came to talk to ya some, Marty." He glanced tentatively at Jonathan. "Um…."

Jonathan glanced at Mush, then hurriedly nodded, not wanting to rile the hulking young man.

"That's fine. I gotta get over to the track anyway." Jonathan picked up a mess of tangled bridles, and jogged off toward the straights before I could even open my mouth.

I turned awkwardly to face Mush, who was turning slightly red, even under his dark tan. His eyes looked slightly uncertain, but he smiled goofily at me as I glared at him.

He cleared his throat. "Um, do you want to walk, or should we sit down right here?"

I wordlessly folded my arms across my chest and gave him the kind of look that _clearly_ said I wasn't in the mood. His enthusiasm faltered, and his face fell.

"I guess I blew it, huh." His voice was soft, and I could barely hear it. His eyes were pleading as he looked at me. I didn't respond. "Please Marty…"

I turned on my heel to walk away. I heard Mush growl in frustration and jogged after me on the other side of the fence. He hoisted himself over the fence and landed with a thud in front of me, his deep chocolate eyes flashing, his jaw set. Startled at his persistence, I drew myself up to my full height, which was only about to his shoulder, and put my hands on my hips. "What?!" I knew I was acting like a snob. But I couldn't seem to stop myself. It was the only way to cover past hurts.

He looked ready to shout at me, but something stopped him He glared at me for a minute, but I saw a battle going on in those deep eyes of his. Then his gaze dropped to the tilled up dirt beneath out feet. "Just…I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that ta happen the other day. I just…didn't think. I didn't know…how else ta tell ya…that…that I care. A lot." Mush looked uncomfortable, and the white, rolled up sleeves on his tan arms strained as he clenched and unclenched his fists at his side.

"I know you probably aren't interested in someone like me, but I just can't keep going on knowing that you don't trust me…that I never would know for sure. That...that I might have hurt you and you'd always be..."

"Sad at you?" I said softly, finally realizing his genuine distress. My conscience pricked me, and I knew I'd treated him unfairly. My head told me not to trust him, that he was just like the others, that he too would only take advantage of me. But my heart looked at his eyes, and read the hope and hurt and fear, protectiveness, and… something else. Something that resembled affection. Something I had hungered for ever since my mother died.

The boyish grin returned to Mush's mouth as I spoke civilly for the first time. He nodded and I saw his muscles relax. I could see that he wanted to reach out and touch my face, but stopped, exercising great restraint as he saw me begin to flinch and back away.

"Don't fall in love with me, Mush. You will regret it if you do." My bitterness from before, along with an old fear, entered my subconscious. Mush's gentle grin disappeared, his eyes betraying genuine confusion and concern.

"I've nevah once regretted a moment spent with ya, Marty, not since I found myself tackling you in the middle of the street so's you wouldn't get hit by that fire wagon." Mush's voice held a definite note of emotion. He choked slightly as he uttered the last sentence, somewhat fiercely. "And…ya been _mine_ ever since…and...whether ya knew it or not..." he paused, stumbling over his words. Then, "Ya been my girl."

My mind tried to wrap around what he had just said. I searched his handsome face, and suddenly believed that he had meant me no harm. That maybe, just maybe, I had almost thrown away something because of the shadows in the past. I tried to gather some Texas pride to hide behind, or my masks but couldn't. It wasn't there. Overwhelmed with everything, I sank to my knees and hid my face in my hands as the tears began to flow.

I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, and turned and let Mush Meyers hold me as I cried.


	13. Chapter 13

In the weeks that followed, I spent my time throwing myself into my work

In the weeks that followed, I spent my time throwing myself into my work. From five in the morning to around three in the afternoon, I could be found at the track. Riley followed me everywhere and was constantly underfoot. Although the horses had been shy of him at first since he was so big and, well, downright bouncy, they soon learned to tolerate him, even when he was constantly trying to pester them.

Every afternoon, I would jog back to Manhattan to spend time with Mush, Chance, Jack, and the others. At first, it hadn't dawned on me that Sheepshead, where I worked, was right on the edge of Brooklyn's territory. In fact, according to Racetrack, it had always been considered off limits to any other newsboys except himself, and he was only allowed because he had grown up in Brooklyn. After this discovery, I felt a little bit nervous about being so close to what I considered to be a disaster waiting to happen, but after weeks went by and nothing happened, I soon forgot about my worries.

Mush and I continued to grow in our friendship, our relationship.

One lazy afternoon as I waited with Mush for Les and Chance to finish selling their last papers, we looked at the lazy afternoon sun, which was starting to disappear behind dark clouds.

"Looks like a storm's comin' in," Mush observed, leaning his heavy arm on my shoulder, pretending to put all his weight on me. I chuckled and ducked quickly out from under him, making him lose his balance.

"Sure does," I drawled lazily studying the dark blue and black clouds, ignoring his mock annoyed look. We sat on the side of the busy road, watching as the afternoon traffic pass by. On the opposite side of the road I spotted a little girl, maybe five or six years old, carrying a small basket in her chubby hands. In the basket were three fluffy kittens, mewing pitifully. I smiled as I saw her caress them and try to sooth them.

Mush was just getting up to fetch Les and Chance, who had just finished, when a quick glance at Riley told me he had come alive. Catching site of the kittens, his ears perked up and he leapt to his feet. Before I could open my mouth to call him back, he lunged into the street and barreled towards the little girl. Not looking either way, he shot right in front of an oncoming buggy, being drawn by four horses. I choked on a scream as I heard the horses squeal as they tried to avoid stepping on the huge dog. But their momentum carried them forward, and I covered my ears as Riley disappeared with a screech under the legs of for horses and the wheels of the buggy.

Mush shouted, and, shaking, I uncovered my face and dashed around traffic towards the buggy, whose driver had pulled to the side of the street. The surrounding people murmured quietly as they resumed walking, slowly looking back at the scene.

I rounded the back of the buggy, and saw Riley lying on his side, but he was struggling to get up. The driver, a middle aged man, knelt kindly beside the dog and told him to lie still. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't stop." I nodded, tears streaming down my cheeks. Mush put a strong hand on my shoulder. Riley was breathing hard and fast, and whimpering. There was a trickle of blood coming out of his mouth, and he looked up at me painfully, a confused look in his amber eyes. I laid my hand on his head. "Shhh. It's alright. You big ugly monster. You never did listen to me, did ya."

"He is very much alive, Marty." Jack, who had appeared on the scene, said quietly. "But his back is broken. Look." I brushed angrily at my eyes and refused to look. Dang it, I had already seen. My big ol' dog's backbone was snapped right behind his shoulder blades, twisting at a perverse angle, and he held his forelegs out straight, typical of a spinal injury. Gashes in his side and legs smeared blood on the cobblestones.

Mush was trying to figure out what to do. Talking with the driver, they finally decided to move the heavy dog. An officer had come along by now, and was trying to make sure that everything was safe for traffic. Riley was so heavy that it would take at least two of them. But as they tried to lift him, he snarled and snapped at them, barely missing Mush's hand.

I cried out as I saw the policeman pull out his pistol. Mush put out a strong arm, pushing the gun away, for now. "Not here, mister. Not here." He looked up at me. "Marty!" He motioned for me to come to Riley's head.

He softly cupped my chin, looking me in the eye. "I need you to hold his head. Its gonna hurt him. Me an' Jack and this nice officer will lift him then. I'll help you get him to Sheepshead. He ain't gonna die in the street." Of course, I knew Riley was not going to make it. But the fact that Mush had saved him for only just a few more minutes made my heart leap with temporary relief.

I knelt tenderly beside my big, curly black dog, caressing his ol' head. "Easy, son. Easy now." His reddish eyes locked on mine, and the goofy, playful look came back for a minute. I nodded to the boys to lift, and they immediately strained against the weight. Riley whined and groaned, but didn't offer to bite me. I held his head gently, and we lowered him into the big wheelbarrow that Les and Chance had brought. My heart was heavy as we walked the long way back to Sheepshead.

As soon as we got there, Mush made everyone leave. As we entered the open field behind the tracks, I saw a figure waiting there. _Red Suspenders. Spot._ I marveled at how quickly news had flown. He probably had his birdies at the scene of the accident.

We got closer. I still had my hand clutched in the black fur of my suffering best friend. I tried not to see the cold iron object in Spot's hand as we came up even with him. I ignored the big mound of earth that had been misplaced on the patch of ground. I didn't look as Spot and Mush began to talk softly to one another. I just gently lowered the wheelbarrow and set my dog on the soft ground. He looked up at me and grinned, his eyes sleepy and his tongue lolling out of his mouth; the goofy expression I knew so well.

"Ya big, ugly monster." I choked, tweaking his ears. Then I whispered, "I am Neyeli. I _will_ not forget you."

I heard both boys walk up behind me. "Marty," Mush started.

"Give me the gun." My face was set.

"Marty, _you_ don't have to do it." Spot's voice was gentle, so soft that I barely knew it was him. "That's why I came."

"Give me that gun, danggit. He's _my_ boy. Please, fellas, he wouldn't have it any other way."

I looked at them, tears still on my face, but determination. I _was_ going to see my ol' dog through to the end.

Both boys wore a pained expression as they watched me take the gun. Each regarded me with a new respect as I tenderly scratched Riley's ears one last time. Riley swiped his bloodstained tongue across my face. He knew.

Standing up with difficulty, I cocked the gun, aimed between the sad, amber eyes, and pulled the trigger.

When I woke up it was nearing sunset. The sky was the first thing I saw. Through the smog of Manhattan, streaks of orange and red and pink could be seen on the horizon, over the bay. I realized that the storm that had been coming earlier this afternoon had never cut loose. It had just faded away. Many things in life seem to do just that.

I shifted and realized that I was leaning against Mush's strong arm. I glanced to my right and saw that Spot was supporting me from the other side. They had been just sitting here, holding me, watching the sunset, and waiting.

After a long silence, "You are one heck of a gal, Marty." Mush kissed the top of my head. I felt Mush's arm tighten around my waist as I sat up slowly.

Spot's gaze was back to normal almost, except for a hauntingly familiar look that I was still not placing. He simply sat there, silently, his icey orbs gazing at me sympathetically. A look that told me that he knew what I was feeling. Not just about Riley, but everything. _What was it about him?_ A deadly foe at one moment, and a supporting friend the next.

I shifted, a worried note in my voice as I spoke. "Mush…where…"

"We took care of him, Marty. I don't think he even felt a thing. You were quick and accurate."

I swallowed. That was a relief. I had seen my pa shoot a horse five or six times before it had finally died. Mush got up and went to my room to get me a cup of water and something to wash my face. As I watched him go, the dull ache in my chest was so intense that I could hardly bear it. I wanted to scream, to run, to hurt something. _Why does everything have to die? To be taken away? _

I stood up, choking on my rage. _Why did my mother have to be taken away with my little brother?_ _Why did my Pa die last year, leaving me with nowhere to go?_ And…_Why did my one friend in New York, my old dog, the one who had an unwavering, selfless interest in me, have to die?_ It seemed too much.

I felt a gentle, calloused hand on my shoulder. Then…everything cut loose. Finally, with something to let out this raging anger on, I turned and belted Spot hard it the face. Blood spurted from his lip, and he stumbled back.

I let out an anguished howl as I attacked him with everything I had. I couldn't see anything as I drove in, nails scratching and kicking and hitting with deadly accuracy that my father had taught me. I couldn't see that Spot didn't fight back. I didn't see his hand that could have fought me only rise to shield his face from blows.

I only saw faces. Faces of people who discriminated because of race. I saw people who hurt other people just so that they could take their land. I saw people who only were kind to others when they could get something out of it. I saw the people who had taken my ranch away, leaving me with not even a horse to ride.

I had not begun to realize what I was doing when I heard Mush yell behind me. Spot reached forward with both arms and firmly pulled me close into a monstrous embrace. I fought him momentarily, and collapsed against him sobbing brokenly. He said nothing, just held me gently, his hand resting on the back of my head.

Mush walked up, slowly, timidly, looking at Spot's face.

"Oh, God." He said, his voice breaking.

Spot shushed him, and I all of a sudden felt sick. I tried to pull back to look at Spot, but he firmly held me close, soothing me like a small child. I knew he probably had a few bruised ribs. Not to mention his face.

I balled my fists against his shoulders and squeezed my eyes shut. Gritting my teeth in anguish, I whispered, "I'm sorry, Spot. I… am… _so_ sorry." He nodded against me, wincing as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Mush just stood there watching.

**A/N**

**My big dog actually did get hit by a car this week. Saddest thing you ever saw. Sorry I had to do that, but Riley was based on my "big, ugly monster." **

**Review. Let me know what you think about pairing. I feel slightly at a loss of where to go now…oh well, the muses will return!**


	14. Chapter 14

It was finally decided that I needed to quit work at Sheepshead. My heart wasn't in it anymore, and Mush determined that I needed a change. Maybe he was right. I moved back to Manhattan, and began looking for a job in the surrounding factories.

I didn't see or hear anything from Spot Conlon since I practically pounded his face in. I grimaced at the thought of the beating I'd given him, and he had just taken it. Under other circumstances, anyone who threw a punch, even a well-deserved one, at Brooklyn, would have had his face beaten into bloody pulp. I really felt ashamed of myself for what I'd done, and had to regard Spot with an indebting sort of respect. He hadn't deserve that beating, and he could have easily taken me out if he'd half tried.

Mush found a job opening at the soap factory where he worked, but warned me that it was hard, and the pay was not much. But it would keep me alive.

"Well, that's good to know," I chuckled.

"Probably won't see much of ya if ya takes it," he grumbled, "I have to work the dumb machinery and furnaces, and you'll be in the mixing room."

I thought for a few minutes, and agreed. "Well, I gotta eat I reckon. We'll give 'er a try."

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My first day was hell. I arrived in the morning, by myself since Mush and the others had papes to sell until early afternoon. A hard-faced, tight lipped woman lead me into the dark room where I would be overseeing twenty girls from the ages of seven to twelve in the task of mixing the ingredients for soap, pouring into molds, and putting sheets of freshly mixed soap on the conveyer belt that ran towards the rooms that housed the cutting and sorting machines, and finally the furnace.

Although just a mite overwhelming, it seemed simple enough. The woman left, with a warning for me not to let them get any "blood or nuttin' in the mixers." Um…

The kids really seemed to know what they were doing. As I walked around the poorly lit room, I watched the process that would eventually turn the gooey paste into bars of soap. It was fascinating watching the tiny hands make the ingredients transform.

Suddenly, a terrified shriek made me jerk my head back around toward the conveyer belt. A tiny, redheaded girl had somehow managed to catch her ragged shirttail in the belt, and it was dragging her towards, what would inevitably be, certain death.

My heart stopped as I leapt toward her, seeing that she was only about four feet away from the hook that would drag her down to the cutting area, and out of my sight. I made a huge dive and barely caught her foot, and she screamed and cried out in terror as it began to drag me along too.

Bracing myself, I pulled with all my might. Several of the older girls grabbed my waist, and just barely, we stopped.

But the conveyer belt kept going. Something underneath had caught her shirttail down inside the rotators, and as that happened, it tightened her dirty shirt around her little body. Terrified, I realized, as her screams were abruptly cut off, that she was being strangled.

Gripping her leg with all my might, I yelled for someone to turn it off. Confused children whimpered and cried, "We can't! The control levers are upstairs!"

Crying out with frustration, I yelled, "Then _get up there!"_ A scrawny girl scurried to obey.

I glanced back up, and saw that the girl's face was turning a pale blue, and the terror was slowly leaving her face, and her pretty blue eyes rolling back into her head.

_Oh, no…don't do that…don't you do that now...  
_

I realized that there wasn't any time. I looked around for anything that I could use, and, spying the blunt pair of scissors that the girls had been using to open the tubs of lard, yelled for someone to get them to me.

With the scissors in my hand, I kept my grip on her leg and reached try to cut her buttons. It was hard, and I missed several times in my hurry, cutting her. But on the third try I sliced through her buttons, and the remaining material ripped and disappeared into oblivion.

Panting, I knelt over the still body of the now half naked girl. I felt panicky, and close to hysteria. I got up and shook her, trying to make her breathe. I opened her mouth and picked her up, not knowing what else to do, and squeezed and released her lungs. The other children gathered around, silently, watching with big eyes. About two minutes went by, seeming like an eternity.

Then…

A choking sound.

"She's alive!" The murmur went back through the children, and happy shouts erupted.

I fell back on my knees, so relieved I could have done cried. At that exact moment, the conveyer belt shut off, and the mean woman came in and yelled at us for turning it off.

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"Yeah? Well, that's why they use a lot of orphans, Marty." Racetrack gulped his coffee as we talked that evening. "Lot of that happens in the sweatshops. To the adults too."

"Yeah. Too bad." Jack shook his head, turned and pounded my back. "Good save, kid."

Chance snuggled up against me, his sleepy eyes drooping. "I'se glad you rescued her, too, Marty..." He mumbled, trying to stifle a yawn. Gosh, I had missed the little guy.

I grinned, thoroughly exhausted. "You'll excuse me, won't, you, fellas."

I walked outside the Lodgeing House and sat on the ground, watching the sun disappear over the World building. What a life.

I heard the door slam and looked up to see Mush's handsome face. He grinned at me. "Found ya."

"Yeah." He came and sat next to me. We sat in silence for a few minutes.

Finally, he got up, and pulled me up with him into his muscular arms. He cradled my face in his hand for a moment, then gently kissed my lips. The cold, hard feeling in my chest seemed to melt a tiny bit as Mush tried to demonstrate how adamant he was that we were in this together. He broke our kiss and pulled me into a tight embrace, burying his face in my hair.

"I love you, Marty."

The edges of my mouth barely went up in what just barely qualified for a smile. I answered softly,

"What would I do without you, Mush Meyers?"


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Its taken a bit to update. Sorry! I have a life, what can I say. But I love this story. Don't worry, it will be finished! ANd hey, if anyone wants to see a picture of the real Riley I have his pic on my profile.**

The early morning pre-dawn was always my favorite time.I sat on the edge of the newsboys lodging house roof, leaning against Mush's strong arm. We had gotten to know each other best here. Talking about almost everything, we focused most of our discussions on where we wanted to be, _who_ we wanted to be.

This time together was special, since we both had to work so much, and Mush was having to spend more time at the docks and the factory than selling papers. Sad as he was to leave that part of his life behind, he knew it was time to move on. He wasn't a boy anymore. He was a man, in almost every way.

His brown arm touched my hair softly. "Here it comes," he whispered, "pointing to the red glow around the horizon. A sudden burst of golden light appeared as the edge of the sun appeared. I smiled. We watched as the big goldren orb slowly made it's appearance in the New York sky, slowly climbing to full visability. I closed my eyes and basked in the newness of day. It made me think of the plains. . .

Mush's boyish chuckle, made me look sharply at him.

"What's so funny, mister," I grumbled playfully, throwing my arms back and stretching.

"Nothin's funny, Marty." Mush's grin sparkled in his beautiful eyes as he leaned over me. "I just love the look you get when you see the sun rise."

His calloused hand brushed my cheek, and he kissed me softly. I kissed back, then giggled, making him break the kiss.

"Go to work, Mr. Meyers. Jack and Race have a party planned tonight. Sooner you go, sooner we can have some fun."

Mush grumbled to himself, ruffled my hair, and got up to leave.

* * *

_"Don't you understand? My Pa is dead. He's DEAD!" The big man in the grey suit stood at my cabin doorstep, and shrugged his shoulders indifferently. _

_"Neyeli. . .er, Miss Branson, that is irrelevant. You cannot stay here simply because your pa isn't here to pay the money he owed on this ranch. I want you _off_... by nightfall." He turned to go, and I sank numbly to my knees as I watched him mount my father's horse. He had been pa's friend, dang it. Pa had helped him, I thought bitterly._

_Now I needed help. Who could I turn to? I thought of the young ranch hand who has worked for my pa last summer. He didn't live too far...perhaps he'd put me up for a day or so..._

_Yes, thats what I'll do, I thought. I'll ask Clint for help. Clint was not much older than me, and had been a good friend of mine last summer. He would help. He had to._

* * *

" 'Ey, Texas."

I had just closed up the mixing room for the day and was about to leave the factory when I heard Spot's voice. Not knowing quite how I felt about seeing him, since the last few times had either centered around tragedy or major squabbles, I turned and reluctantly faced the sly-faced fellow, leaning against the brick wall.

"Well now, howdy, Conlon," I said, a little awkwardly. "Haven't seen you around much."

Spot's cool expression didn't change at all. He had a cigarette dangling from his lips, and his hands were pushed into his back pockets. If one didn't know him, they'd think he was bored.

"Well, I's been around, a little, Tex," he said, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "I just don't always choose to be sociable. Not that I'm against bein' sociable, you understand."

I waited patiently. But Spot didn't continue. He just kept looking at me.

After a moment I cleared my throat and said, "Well, I best be headed back to the boarding house. Some o' the fellers are waitin' ."

Spot nodded. "Meyers." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, Mush will be there," I said. I nodded a goodbye and started to leave.

"Hey!"

I turned back to Spot. "Can I help you with somethin', partner?" I didn't say it rudely, but I didn't know why he was here. Conlon didn't waste time on chit-chat. Something was up.

Spot walked up to me, his cool expression fading into a look of intense. . .something. He appeared to be formulating a sentence in his thoughts, then mentally tossed it aside. He took a drag on his smoke and blew it out, throwing it away, coming close and l turned and gave him my full attention.

"Marty. . ." he whispered. Something was wrong. He had never called me that, ever. It had always been, Tex, or Texas...

I started to get an eerie feeling, like a premonition almost. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I faced the king of Brooklyn squarely. I held my breathe.

"Marty. . . is your name. . .

My eyes got huge, and goose bumps made my hair stand on end.

". . .Neyeli?"

**A/N: I love reviews...Hate it? Love it? Curious? Suggestions? Tell me please.**


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